


Light Up My Lover's Way

by punkphantom



Series: projecting my ace subtype on Jon [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 24/7 submission, Aftercare, Anal Sex, Asexuality, Begging, Bondage, Discipline, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Dom/sub, Impact Play, Kink Negotiation, Kneeling, M/M, Martin describes a fantasy and Jon gets off on it, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Service Submission, Sexual Fantasy, Training, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, ace subtype: kinky but don't touch my junk, fantasy includes:, guided masturbation, sex is cool but have you ever had ghirardelli dark chocolate and raspberry squares, tea but make it kinky, trans ace character written by trans ace author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28203615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkphantom/pseuds/punkphantom
Summary: It's not that Jon doesn't like sex. It's just that he's not super sold on the concept of someone else touching him, or seeing him naked for that matter - both things that sex requires.Or so he thought. Luckily, Martin has some ideas.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims
Series: projecting my ace subtype on Jon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094627
Comments: 22
Kudos: 215





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a biromantic asexual. I have no fucking idea how I feel about sex. So I'm taking this fictional biromantic asexual and making him talk about it with his boyfriend. And then they fuck about it. Enjoy
> 
> (Title from If You Were Mine by Billie Holiday)

It’s complicated.

For a while, that was the only explanation Jon would give when asked about sex. He’s not against it, but it’s complicated. He likes giving, but it’s complicated. It gives him dysphoria sometimes, but it’s complicated.

Martin has never pushed. He’s considerate like that. Sometimes Jon wishes he would, wishes he could pull the whole, messy, inexplicable truth out of the knot of complications in Jon’s chest for his perusal. But Jon doesn’t bring it up, so Martin doesn’t either. They ignore the elephant in the room in favor of cuddling, and soft touches, and kisses that stay exactly that. Jon takes care of himself in the shower, or in their bed when Martin goes out for groceries, and he suspects Martin is doing much the same.

Jon drifts awake one morning out of the kind of dream he rarely has. He rubs his legs together and gasps at how good it feels, cock filling even more as he squirms. Martin stirs beside him.

“Wha’s happenin’?”

Jon shuts his eyes and wills his arousal to go away. “Nothing. It’s fine,” he says, unconvincingly.

Martin rubs the sleep from his eyes and peers at the alarm clock, propping himself up on his elbow. “Fuck, it’s early.” He looks down at Jon. “Are you okay? Bad dream?”

Jon shakes his head. “Good dream. Very good dream.”

“Oh.” Martin stops for a second. “Do you want some help with that? Or should I go, or…”

“Don’t go,” Jon says, a bit desperately. “Can I, um.” He’s suddenly grateful for how dark it is, so Martin can’t see how much he’s blushing. “Can I rub off on you? While you- while you hold me?” he finally manages to get out.

“Should we talk about this?”

“In the morning.”

“Of course,” Martin says, shifting to lie back down. “How do you want me?”

“Sort of on your side? Like this,” he says, shifting to arrange himself against Martin. He ends up half on top of Martin, whose thigh is slotted between Jon’s legs. “Can I? Please,” he gasps out, hips already moving in little half-stopped jerks.

“Go ahead, sweetheart.” Martin pulls him in close, one hand between Jon’s shoulder blades as the other moves gently through his hair.

Jon grasps at Martin’s shirt and starts to grind, tucking his head under Martin’s chin. It takes him a while, and he lets out little gasping moans into the crook of Martin’s shoulder, chasing his pleasure. When he gets close to his peak, he starts to beg. “Please, Martin, can I? Please, please.”

Luckily Martin understands quickly what Jon is asking for. “Yes, you may.”

Jon cries out as he crashes over the edge, slowing down as he rides out the aftershocks. “Thank you.” He says after a moment of stillness. He kisses the nearest part of Martin’s neck that he can. “Are you hard?”

“Yeah,” Martin tells him, “but if you don’t want to, I can-”

“I want to,” Jon cuts him off. “I can jack you off, if you want?”

“Okay,” Martin agrees hastily. He unties the drawstring of his pajamas, pulling his cock out. “I don’t think we have lube or anything like that.”

“It’s fine.” Jon licks the palm of his hand and wraps it around Martin, giving a few test strokes. “Good?”

“Good. Really good,” Martin says breathily. Jon keeps his hand moving, adding a little twist at the top that makes Martin gasp. “I’m close,” he warns Jon after a while.

“Come for me,” Jon says, and Martin does shortly with a groan, spilling over Jon’s hand.

“Oh, here.” Martin reaches around blindly for the tissue box on his nightstand. He hands one to Jon, who wipes his hand off and chucks the tissue in the general vicinity of the waste bin.

“I’ll get it in the morning,” he says, curling into Martin.

Martin mumbles something that could be agreement, and together they fall back asleep.

\---

Jon is alone in the bed when he wakes up again. He can hear Martin in the kitchen, and he glances at the corner of the room where the waste bin is to find that Martin has already disposed of the tissue. He begrudgingly gets out from under the covers, rummaging through the dresser for one of Martin’s jumpers before pulling it on and going to meet him downstairs.

Martin’s on the couch in the living room when he gets out there. He’s made tea for both of them, and he holds Jon’s mug out for him to take. Jon accepts it gratefully before sitting next to Martin, tucking his legs up and leaning into his side. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Martin replies, shifting his mug to his other hand so he can drape an arm over Jon’s shoulder.

“So,” Jon says.

“So,” Martin echoes back at him. He doesn’t continue, and after a moment Jon can’t bear the silence.

“It’s complicated.”

“You’ve said,” Martin says with a smile, eyes crinkling slightly. “But that’s okay. We can do complicated.”

“Yeah,” Jon agrees. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, trying to figure out a way to phrase things before sighing heavily. “I don’t know.”

“Have you had sex before?”

“Yes. Or at least, I tried, when I was still with Georgie. Didn’t go super well.”

“Why not?”

Jon rests his head on Martin’s shoulder. “I didn’t like the exposure of it. It made me uncomfortable, to be naked and vulnerable and seen.” He takes another sip of his tea. “I don’t think that’s any different now, after…”

Martin chooses not to follow that train of thought. “Was there anything about the thing itself you didn’t like? Things we should avoid?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like it didn’t feel good. It’s just,” he hesitates, “I’m still not entirely sold on the idea of someone else touching me. And I don’t like being able to see myself. It’s not as bad now that I’ve had top surgery, and I did get a hysterectomy a while back, but I haven’t had phallo, so.”

Martin hums. “How do you feel about penetration?”

“Front or back?”

“Front. Like I said, we don’t have lube, and I don’t think there’s a sex shop for at least a few miles around.”

“Hot in theory. In practice, I usually only touch my cock when I get off, but fingering still feels nice as long as I can’t see it happening. That’s a running theme, to be honest. I don’t like being reminded that I don’t have a flesh-and-blood penis, and most sex acts require me to be… exposed, so to speak.”

“Yeah,” Martin agrees.

“Why do you ask? Is that something you want?”

“I don’t want to do anything at all that you don’t like,” Martin rushes to clarify. “But it seems like you want to have sex with me, and I would very much enjoy that as well, and I’d like to know where your boundaries are before we do that.”

“What about your boundaries? They’re important too.”

“I suppose they’re fairly standard, to be honest. I like bottoming, but topping is also good. I’m okay with giving and receiving oral. I’ve also done some kinky stuff, that was fun.”

Jon chokes a bit on his tea when Martin says that last part. “Let’s come back to that later,” he says, after he’s regained some of his composure. “I’ve used a strap to top before, that was really good. I’m okay with giving oral as well. Receiving either runs into the same problem as before. I don’t think you can go down on me while I’ve still got pants on.”

“You’d be surprised,” Martin remarks.

Jon flushes. “Right.”

Martin smiles to himself. They trail off for a while after that, finishing their tea.

“I’m asexual,” Jon says out of the blue as Martin collects his cup.

“I thought you might be,” he replies, setting the cups down in the kitchen sink to deal with later. “There was an office rumor a bit ago, I heard that you- well, that you didn’t, but-”

“It’s complicated.” Jon finishes for him. Martin nods, taking a seat again. Jon immediately sinks into his side. “I don’t know. Like,” he says, licking his lips, “I’m bi. I’ve had relationships with women, right? Men too. But I don’t generally get attracted to people in the first place. It happens maybe... twice every five years? On average. I spent a lot of time questioning my own sexuality,” he says. “Bisexuals aren’t confused, but on another level, bisexuals are very much confused. Or at least I was. Still am, maybe. I feel like I don’t have enough data to come to an informed conclusion.”

Martin kisses the top of his head, but doesn’t say anything. Jon carries on.

“It’s like, I’ll like three women in a row. That’s seven, eight years when I’m not really attracted to men, so I question if maybe I don’t like men at all and I’m just straight. Then I’ll fall for a guy and get stuck on him for a year or two, and eventually enough time goes by where I’m not attracted to any women, so I think maybe I was actually gay the whole time and I was making myself like women to fulfill some bullshit requirement so I could fit into society’s expectations of what a ‘real man’ should be.”

Jon shifts in his place leaning against Martin’s side. “And then there’s the issue of whether my feelings were ever actually sexual attraction, or if they were romantic attraction and I was conflating the one with the other. I don’t grasp the concept, to be perfectly candid. Sex, in real life, with real people, is weird and messy and there are parts of it I deeply dislike, but I still want to have sex. I still have fantasies, I still have a sex drive. But I don’t get anything out of watching porn, for example. Even in real life, I can be horny and still be uninterested in a proposition from someone who’s objectively very nice-looking. It’s like being hungry but not wanting to eat anything in your kitchen. It’s just,” he huffs. “It’s really, really frustrating. I don’t know. I don’t understand how any of this is supposed to work, or how I should be describing myself. I just say I’m queer most of the time now, it’s easier than trying to explain all of this.”

Martin takes a moment to absorb everything. “So you don’t know what you want?” he says softly.

Jon turns to look him in the face. “I want you,” he says, earnestly. “Does that count?”

Martin almost can’t handle the look of sheer, blunt truth in Jon’s eyes. “Yeah,” he chokes out, “yeah, that counts.”

“I do want to have sex with you, just to be clear,” Jon says. “I’d also like to talk about kink, now, please.”

“Right,” Martin says, remembering that he’d mentioned it earlier. “I didn’t tell you you had to beg if you wanted to come last night, you did it all on your own.”

Jon blushes. “Yes.”

“So you like needing my permission to come. Tell me what else you like.”

“Um,” Jon squirms in his seat. “Being ordered around. Preferably with clear directions that are easy to understand. I have dommed before, but that was a service top sort of situation. I prefer giving control over myself to another person, knowing that I don’t have to make any decisions or worry about anything except doing as I’m told.”

“Noted. I like ordering people around, so that lines up nicely. Continue.” Martin tells him, smiling wolfishly when Jon somehow manages to flush even deeper.

“Possessive behavior is really hot. Collars, as an extension of that, and saying things like I belong to you. I do like needing your permission to do things like come or touch myself, but I’d also like you to withhold that permission and make me wait. Praise is good, as well as humiliation. Humiliating praise is very good. Just don’t be mean about my body or my appearance, and don’t misgender me.”

Martin’s arm around Jon’s shoulder tightens, just slightly. “Never,” he says, vehemently, like he hadn’t even considered the possibility and hates that someone apparently did, if Jon felt like he needed to make that explicitly clear.

“Stuff about sex is good, like slut or whore. Fucktoy is fun, too. That reminds me, objectification can be fun if I’m in the right headspace for it. But if you’re gonna do that, I’d prefer it if you combined it with praise. Telling me I’m a, a good toy, or an obedient slut, or things like that. I have a major thing for kneeling, and restraints.”

“Are you opposed to me calling you ‘pet’? I don’t really like animal references during sex, but I do like how ‘pet’ is sort of… demeaning, without actually being mean? Like, if I used it, I’d be implying a dynamic of ownership and obedience, but it’s also just a perfectly normal term of endearment in some places.”

Jon considers. “I like it. It’s affectionate, but in context, I’ll know you’re using it to lovingly dehumanize me.”

“Right. Glad we’re on the same page, then. How do you feel about pain?”

“I can take a fair amount, but I don’t really like pain just for the sake of pain. I’d rather you hurt me because I did something you didn’t like and you decided to discipline me for it, than hurt me because you felt like hurting me. The exception would be hair pulling. Please do that whenever you feel like it.”

Martin grins. “I can make that happen.” He guessed Jon would like getting his hair pulled. Sometimes, Martin will see him twisting locks of his own hair around his fingers and tugging hard, when he’s working or bored or overwhelmed or tense. Martin assumes it’s a stim of his, but he’s never brought it up.

“What about you?”

Martin leans back, considering. “I like domming,” he starts. “Giving orders and expecting them to be followed, and doling out punishment if they’re not. So, training, I guess? Bondage in general is good, but especially ropes. Manhandling is good. I like it when a sub is tied up so they can’t move at all and they just have to take whatever I give them. I like begging, and desperation in general. Edging is usually how that ends up happening. You mentioned collars, and I like those too, but I’d like to add a leash if you’re amenable. I just like the symbolism of it - having you be so clearly mine, so obviously ready to do anything I please.” He feels Jon shiver.

Jon licks his lips. “There’s nothing in there that I’d object to. Although, I’m guessing we’re both sticking to tamer stuff at the moment, especially for a first scene.”

“Yes. We can negotiate everything else later, but for now I’m not really comfortable doing more than what we’ve already mentioned.” Jon nods.

“I’m not sure what a scene involving that would look like. If sex is going to be a part of it, especially sex where you’re touching me, we’re going to have to talk a lot more about that.”

Martin looks at him, considering. “What if you touched yourself?”

“Hm?”

“When you get off on your own, how do you do it? You don’t seem like you’re seeing your- what should I call your parts?”

“Cock and dick for the bits I usually interact with. You can use cunt for the rest.”

Martin nearly chokes at hearing Jon say ‘cunt’ so casually. “Okay,” he says faintly.

Jon notices his reaction and smirks. “It’s the least feminine-sounding word for it I can think of,” he explains. “And I don’t generally use it when I’m not doing a scene with some amount of humiliation involved.”

Martin is still recovering. “Can I call you pretty?”

“I’m sorry?”

“If you don’t like feminine-sounding words. ‘Pretty’ can be a bit fem, depending on your interpretation.”

“I can be pretty for you,” Jon murmurs.

“Okay. Yeah. Tell me if that changes.” Martin feels rather than sees Jon nod.

“But as I was saying, I assume you can’t see your cock when you touch yourself alone.”

“Oh, yeah. I do it under a blanket or sheet. And I usually keep my pants on, though that’s less of a dysphoria thing and more about not getting the sheets messy.”

“So here’s my proposition. You find scenarios hot, right?”

“Yes. The acts themselves, or the ideas of them, are what turn me on, not really the people involved.”

“How about this; you sit in front of me, with your legs covered how you like. I put your wrists in rope cuffs, so I can control your hands to some extent. I describe a scenario that we both would find appealing, and I tell you how to touch yourself while I do. I have you edge yourself for as long as I want, and if you start to touch yourself in a way that I don’t like, I tug your hands away from that pretty cock of yours. Disobey me enough and I might have to punish you. Then, once I’m satisfied, I have you give me head. Any objections?”

Jon’s a bit breathless. “No,” he says, swallowing hard. “That all sounds… very good. What would the fantasy scenario be?”

“Probably how I’d train you if you were my full-time sub. I assume that’s not actually a dynamic you want, and it’s not one I want either, but we can both get off on the idea of certain acts, even if you wouldn’t want them in real life.”

“You’re correct in assuming I don’t want that dynamic, but it is fun to think about. The way you’re describing it, the fantasy would have me naked? That’s the only thing I think I’ve explicitly said I don’t want, given that you clearly don’t want to make me feel bad about my body in any way.”

“Yeah. Do you not want that? I can adjust pretty easily.”

“No, it’s okay as long as it stays a fantasy. For now, at the very least.”

“Okay,” Martin says, relieved. “When do you want to do this?”

Jon rises from his spot next to Martin and resettles in his lap, straddling his hips. “Can we do it today? I’m ramped up.” He kisses him.

Martin accepts it. “From last night?”

“And now.”

“I see. Negotiating turned you on?”

“I mean, you were describing exactly how you want to dominate and fuck me. I feel like you could have seen this coming.”

“Hm.” Martin brings a hand up and gently takes hold of Jon’s chin, tilting it up. He kisses the place where Jon’s jaw meets his neck. “I see. In that case, since you’re all in the mood to be told what to do,” he leans in close to Jon’s ear. “You will not touch yourself until I allow it in the scene. Understand? I’ll know if you disobey me.”

Jon’s breath audibly hitches. “Yes, Martin.”

“Good boy.” He leans back, and sees that Jon’s pupils are blown, black nearly swallowing the dark brown of his irises. “I’m going to take a shower and get some things ready. Why don’t you take care of the cups in the sink, and then read until I come and get you?”

Jon nods jerkily. “Okay.” He clambers off of Martin’s lap, heading for the sink.

Martin smiles to himself, and heads upstairs to take a shower.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has, among other things: edging (lots of it), objectification/humiliation, and discussions of service submission because that shit fuckin slaps

Jon is sitting on the edge of the couch, staring into space when Martin comes to get him. His hands are in his lap, and his leg is bouncing rapidly. Martin clears his throat, and Jon’s head whips around to see him waiting on the stairs. He practically leaps up. “Ready?”

Martin nods. “Ready.”

In the bedroom, the bed has been stripped of its many blankets. The massive pile of pillows that Martin insists on sleeping with is propped up against the headboard, and there are three coils of rope where Jon assumes he’ll be laying.

“Strip to your comfort level and sit on the edge of the bed.”

Jon removes Martin’s stolen jumper as well as his trousers. He may be cold now, but that’s preferable to getting sweat all over his mostly-clean clothes once the scene gets going. He sits on the bed in just a t-shirt and boxers.

Martin takes one of the ropes. “Give me your hands.” When Jon holds them out, Martin takes one wrist and begins tying the end of the rope around it. When he’s done, he lets go of Jon’s arm and pulls the rope, tugging Jon’s wrist toward him. “Good boy. Other hand, now.”

Martin takes the other end of the rope currently connected to the cuff and begins tying the other side. When he’s finished, he lifts the long rope connecting Jon’s wrists and drops it behind Jon’s back. “Color?”

“Green.”

“Good. I’m going to do your ankles now. Sit in the center of the bed and spread your legs.”

Jon does as he’s told, leaning back on his hands as he watches Martin tie an ankle to one bedpost, then to the other. The ropes are long enough to offer some range of movement, but not enough to close his legs. Martin takes the top sheet and covers Jon’s lower half. Finally, he sits behind Jon, leaning back against the mountain of pillows, legs crossed, and takes a hold of the rope crossing behind Jon’s back, close to where it connects to each wrist.

“Lie back. You can put your head in my lap.”

Jon starts leaning back, trusting Martin to direct him. Martin’s hands come up to support Jon’s head and back, guiding him gently into position. Jon tilts his chin up to look back at Martin for further instructions.

Martin smiles. “Perfect. I think I’ll let you have one hand, at first.” He lets the rope restraining Jon’s left wrist go, and Jon starts to bring it under the sheet before thinking better of it. He pauses, waiting for Martin’s order.

“Good boy. You can touch yourself now, but you have to tell me when you get close. Nothing inside for now, just touch your cock for me.”

Jon does, slipping his hand down his pants and sighing. He’s been wet all day, and Martin knows it. “Tell me how you’d train me.”

“I’d teach you some manners first, that’s for sure,” Martin grumbles, pulling sharply on Jon’s hair.

“I’m sorry. Will you please tell me how you’d train me, sir?”

Martin relaxes his fingers, relieving some of the tension. “Much better. I like the ‘sir’ there, by the way. I won’t enforce it, but continue if you like.” He leans his head back into the pillows behind him, “I think my first task would be to teach you your place. Good little toys exist for their dominant’s pleasure, don’t they?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’d have to make sure that you knew what you were. My fucktoy. A pretty little thing for me to have my way with anytime I liked.” Jon’s breath hitches, his hand moving a little faster. “I’d order you to strip, then tie you down to my bed. Spread eagle, completely helpless, unable to stop me from taking whatever I wanted from you. I’d put you in a spreader bar as well, so you couldn’t close your legs even a bit. And then,” Martin pauses for effect, “I’d fuck that tight little cunt of yours, nice and hard and rough. Maybe I wouldn’t even give you prep - you're such a slut you'd probably be wet enough without it. And if you weren't, I suppose you’d just have to take it anyways. I’d make sure you understood who really owned your cunt. Who owned you.”

Jon moans, breathing heavily and starting to squirm as much as the ropes on his ankles allow, trying to work himself up. Martin knows he’s not anywhere close to coming, but he tells him to stop anyway.

“Hands off. Move your hand completely away so I can see you’ve done it.”

Jon whimpers, but obeys. Martin checks to make sure that he can see Jon’s hand move away from his cock under the covers. It does, resting on what Martin assumes to be Jon’s hip.

“I wouldn’t let you come when I fucked you, either. You’d have to earn that. I’d use your cunt to get off, finish inside you, and I’d leave you there. Tied down, come dripping out of you and making a mess of my sheets. Anyone would know what you were if they saw you, wouldn’t they?” Jon nods. "What would they see?"

"They'd see that I was a whore, that I belonged to you, sir."

“That's right, pet. Go ahead and touch yourself.”

Jon moves his hand back between his legs, rubbing again at his cock. He sighs quietly. He still won’t come for a while now, but his fingers on his cock are starting to feel more and more pleasant.

Martin continues. “You’d stay there until I was ready to fuck you again. I’d use your mouth that time. If I were training a slut like you, I’d have to make you understand that every part of you existed for my pleasure. I would have the right to any hole I liked, whenever I liked, regardless of what you wanted. I’d go until I was about to come, pull out, and finish all over your face. If any come got in your mouth, I wouldn’t let you swallow for a good long while. I’d train you to love the taste of it, make you needy and desperate to please me, just to get more.” He pauses for a moment, estimating how long he has before he should make Jon stop again. “I’d use you over, and over, and over, at any time of day or night. I’d fuck your mouth, and your cunt, and your ass. Maybe I’d take to plugging you whenever you weren’t in use, so you were always ready for my cock. I’d finish in your pretty cunt and put a toy in after I pulled out so you’d stay full of my come. Just to make it very clear who you belonged to.”

Jon whimpers, hand moving faster. His hips shift, trying to find the best-feeling angle as his orgasm slowly builds.

“I suppose I’d have to let you up to use the bathroom, so you wouldn't make more of a mess of yourself than you already had. But when you were done, you’d go right back into your restraints, all helpless and ready for use like you should be. Depending on how long it took for you to learn what a whore you really were, this could go on for days, or weeks. Months, even. And the whole time, I wouldn’t let you have an orgasm. Much like I’m not letting you have one right now. Hands off.”

Jon groans, but does as he’s told. He can feel his orgasm ebbing away, and resolutely does not pout about it. “Just so you know, this fantasy is extremely hot so far.”

“I’m glad. You like the idea of being my personal fucktoy? Want me to use you as the cocksleeve you are?” Jon nods, moaning. “I know you do, you little slut. Next time I let go of this rope, no touching your cock. You can have fingers in your cunt, but nothing more. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You wouldn't get to come for a few reasons. One, I’d want you desperate for me to fuck you. If the only way to get pleasure was to pleasure me, you’d start to crave my cock, wouldn’t you?" Jon gives a breathy sort of agreement. "Two, you’d need to learn your place. I wouldn't give you my cock because I thought you liked it, you'd take it like a good boy because that’s what a toy like you is meant for. After you’d learned your place and accepted that you belonged to me, if you were very, very obedient, maybe I’d let you pick what hole I fucked. Sometimes I’d use the one you chose, as a reward for being good. Sometimes I’d use a different one just to remind you that what you wanted didn’t matter, so long as you pleased me. This whole time, you still wouldn’t have earned the right to come, of course, but you might have been getting close. Start fingering yourself.”

Jon barely feels his finger go in, he’s so wet. He starts fucking himself with it slowly at first, then speeding up. He tries to find his g-spot, curling his finger inside himself, but he was never really completely sure where it was in the first place. He groans in frustration at how unsatisfying this is in comparison to touching his cock, but stops himself from going back to rubbing his dick.

“When I decided you’d learned to be a good enough toy to fuck, I’d start really training you. I couldn’t just let you lay around all day waiting to be used - and besides, you’d want to serve me, wouldn’t you?” Jon doesn’t answer, and Martin pulls harshly at his hair. “Wouldn’t you?”

Jon gasps at the pain. “Yes, I would. I do.”

“What would you do to prove your devotion to me?”

“Anything, Martin, anything.”

“That’s very sweet of you, pet, but I want specifics. I would want you to take initiative, prove that you’re more than just a pretty face.”

Jon shuts his eyes, delves into the tamer fantasies he’s had about Martin. “I’d make you tea,” he settles on.

Martin raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Black, done exactly the way you like it. I’d even follow all the directions about how hot the water should be, how long it should be steeped. You could sit back and relax and have me bring the tea set to you when I was done, and I'd kneel at your feet and hold the tray for you while you drank your tea, for however long you wanted me to.”

Martin didn’t expect that mental image to be as alluring as it is. He sucks in a breath as he pictures Jon coming into the living room, eyes lowered in deference, sinking to his knees before him as he holds up the tea tray. He imagines his pet, passive and subdued at his feet, looking up at him through long eyelashes for approval, and the sense of power that rushes through him is more intense than he could have anticipated.

Jon, for his part, indulges himself in the parts of the fantasy he doesn’t say aloud. How his knees would hurt, how his arms would ache and start to tremble from holding the same position for so long, and how he would keep going anyway for the satisfaction of being good. He wants to take care of Martin the way Martin takes care of him, he really does, but he never knows how. Martin is always so soft, so tender, like Jon’s the most precious thing in the world, and he’s never quite figured out how to replicate that. The structure of servitude lets him know how to make Martin happy without having to figure it out on his own, lets him let go of his anxiety in favor of just following the next command.

There’s also the fact that, as Jon is quickly learning, Martin is stunningly beautiful when he’s in charge. He always has a sense of strength to him, but now, looking up at his face, Jon thinks he looks absolutely regal. He looks like he should be lounging in a throne, adorned with gold jewelry that glints against his warm brown skin. Jon would very willingly bow to him like that. Hell, he’d worship him if he got the chance. It’d only be natural.

Martin runs a hand along Jon’s face, impossibly soft. “That’s a very good place to start, darling, thank you,” he says. “You would be so good at it, I know you would, but you’d want to be perfect, wouldn’t you?”

Jon bites his lip. “Yes sir.”

“Don’t worry, I’d help you be a perfect toy for me. Go ahead and add another finger.”

He does, wincing slightly at how it stings - he wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t do this often. He scissors his fingers inside of himself, trying to adjust to the stretch.

Martin keeps talking. “Let’s start with the tea, shall we?” he says, running his fingers through Jon’s hair. “How would I train you?” he muses to himself. “Maybe I’d have you memorize the times and temperatures you mentioned. Blindfold you, have you kneel on the bed with your hands bound. I could quiz you on steeping times and give you a kiss for every one you got right.” A smile plays across Jon’s face at that. “Yeah? You’re so eager to please, I wouldn’t even have to consider pain. Withholding kisses would be punishment enough.”

“May I have a kiss now, please? I’ve been good.”

“I suppose you have,” Martin says. He has to bend his head down to reach Jon in his lap, kissing him upside down like Spider-Man. “Happy?”

“Very. You can keep going.”

“Oh, are you the one deciding what I can or can’t do now?” Martin teases.

Jon smiles. “No sir, I’m sorry sir. Will you please keep going? If you want to, that is,” he says, only half sarcastically. 

“Better. I think next would be kneeling. I know you love it, so there’d be no convincing to be done there. I’d only have to train you to kneel in exactly the way I wanted. I’d bring out a crop for this, even if I thought you would try to be good for me. I’d have you kneel on my floor, position you the way I wanted, and tell you to stay like that. Then I’d wait. You’d falter eventually. Maybe you’d move a knee to shift the pressure, maybe you’d stop paying attention to your posture and slump, maybe you’d just forget to be still and move your hands. Whatever it was, I’d use the crop and remind you to stay the way I put you.

"I’d make you stay like that for ages, until you couldn’t keep going anymore no matter how hard you tried, and then I’d pick you up off the ground and ice your knees and give you all the praise you wanted. And then, the next day, we’d do it again. And again the day after that. As long as we needed to. You’d be so good for me, every time, and eventually the position I liked to see you kneeling in would be so deeply ingrained in you that I wouldn’t need the crop anymore. You’d be able to stay like that for hours, all docile and obedient for me, kneeling at my feet exactly the way I wanted. The way I know you want.” He stops monologuing to pet at Jon’s hair, taking note of the frustration on his face. “What's wrong, darling?”

Jon is shifting in place, brow furrowed as he continues to try and work himself up, to no avail. He sighs, slowing his hand. “I really liked the fantasy. It’s just that I’ve been fucking myself for what feels like damn near half an hour, and I’m not any closer to coming than I was when I started.”

“I see. Penetration isn’t doing anything for you?”

He shakes his head again. “It feels fine, but I feel like I’m supposed to be getting frustrated because you keep letting me get close to an orgasm without ever actually letting me have it, not because I can’t get close to coming at all.”

“I suppose you’re right. Touch your cock for me.”

Jon complies, sighing in relief. “Thank you, sir,” he breathes, closing his eyes.

“You’re welcome. Just remember to tell me when you get close, okay?” Jon nods. “You know, I think the thing I’d enjoy most about this scenario would be the everyday things.” Martin knows he’s staring, but he can't help it. He can see how Jon's face flushes, hear how his breath comes quick and ragged. He's gorgeous. ”Once you were trained, we wouldn’t need big grand gestures of dominance and submission. You’d be mine, and you’d do as you were told, and if you didn’t I would correct your behavior how I saw fit. Maybe one day you’d come before I'd given you permission, so I wouldn’t let you have another orgasm for a month. Or maybe I’d catch you touching yourself, so I’d take your hands away until I decided you’d learned your lesson.”

Jon groans, imagining it. How desperate would he need to be before he broke a rule like that? He pictures Martin catching him in the act, cuffing his arms behind his back, keeping him restrained as they went about their days. Stripped almost entirely of his independence, he'd be completely helpless for however long Martin pleased.

“You like that idea? What other punishments would I use on you? How about, if you refused to let me fuck you without safe-wording out, I’d make you spend some time as my free-use slut. Teach you not to deny me what's mine. Anytime I felt like having sex, you’d have to drop whatever you were doing and let me have you, however I wanted, wherever I wanted. You could be in the middle of washing dishes, and I could come up behind you and take you right there over the kitchen counter. You'd love that, wouldn't you, you little whore?”

“Yes,” Jon gasps, getting closer and closer to coming. “Want you to use me, Martin, however you like.”

“I know, pet, a little thing like you needs to be controlled. Maybe if you forgot your place badly enough, I’d only allow you to crawl or kneel until you remembered it again. Only good pets get to be on the furniture. Naughty, disobedient toys should be kept on the floor when they’re not in use, to remind them that they belong either on their owner’s cock or at his feet.”

“Martin,” Jon says, desperately, “I’m gonna come, please let me come, please. I’m so close, please, please sir.” Martin hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything. Jon rubs at his cock faster and faster, rocketing towards the edge-

With a sharp tug of the rope, Martin pulls Jon’s hand away, not budging even when Jon pulls against it as hard as he can.

“No, please, sir!” Jon whines, struggling futilely against the ropes as the orgasm he was so sure he’d get slips away, out of his grip. "Please, let me come, please!"

“No, pet. I’m not done playing with you. Now, we’re going to stay like this, and once you’ve calmed down a bit, we can try again. Alright?”

Jon groans. “Yes, sir." It's going to be a long afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...okay so maybe I have some very specific fantasies. what of it


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have pre-written, so the final one will probably either be up tomorrow or the day after that. This chapter is mostly oral, with some punishment/impact play (also more edging). There's a bit right at the beginning where Jon thinks that Martin is going to cross a previously-agreed-upon boundary, but it's very brief and Martin is quick to reassure him.

“Please, please, let me come, Martin, I’m so close. Please,” Jon begs in a broken voice, tears running down his face. He’s lost count of how many times Martin has ordered him to stop, or simply pulled his hands away from his cock without warning.

“No, pet. Hands off.” 

Jon stops working his cock, but doesn’t take his hand away from his crotch. He cries out a little when Martin pulls the rope, yanking it away by the wrist, but doesn’t resist. He goes pliantly as Martin urges him up into a sitting position, before taking both wrists and placing them at the small of his back. His new situation only registers when he feels Martin tie a knot in the rope connecting his wrists, removing all of the slack so Jon can’t take his hands from behind him.

“Martin?” he says, a note of panic creeping into his voice. He starts to pull at the ropes keeping his arms restrained.

Martin places one hand on Jon’s wrists, pushing them forward into the small of Jon’s back, while simultaneously wrapping an arm around Jon’s torso. “Stay still for me,” he murmurs into Jon’s ear. “It’s okay.”

“But I can’t touch myself like this, and I don’t want you to touch me,” he says desperately. Martin shushes him.

“I’m not going to touch you, darling, I’d never do that if you didn’t ask me to,” he soothes. 

A wave of relief washes over Jon, but he doesn't stop moving. “Then how am I supposed to come like this?”

“You’re not. Come on, I’ll untie your legs and then you can suck me off.”

“What do you mean I’m not? You said I could come before I gave you head,” Jon says, petulant. He makes a valiant effort to escape.

Martin simply tightens his grip, preventing him from moving. “I never said that, pet.”

“Yes, you did,” Jon argues, still fighting.

“What’s your color?”

“I’m green, you fucking asshole, let go!”

“Language,” Martin scolds. Jon’s attempts to get free are doing approximately nothing in the face of Martin’s bulk. “When I suggested this scene, I said that you would keep edging until I was satisfied, at which point I would have you give me head.”

“And I satisfied you, didn’t I?” Jon whines. He feels like he needs to come more than he’s ever needed anything in his entire life. He sniffles, turns his head as much as he can to look at Martin with big, imploring eyes, trying to be as pitiful as possible. 

Martin doesn’t fall for it. “Of course you did, pet, you were so good for me. Such a perfect slut. But I don’t care how pathetic a look you give me, I never said anything about letting you come when I was satisfied.”

Jon freezes, realizing that Martin is right. He was never promised an orgasm. A sob rips its way out of him. “Please, no, please let me come, sir, please,” he begs, starting to squirm in Martin’s arms, breath coming in spasms as he cries. He’s pulling so hard at the ropes that he knows his wrists will be bruised tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. “I was good, I’ll keep being good, please - I promise, I’ll do anything you want, just please, please let me come, Martin, please!”

Martin keeps holding Jon tight as he thrashes against his grip. He murmurs reassurances into Jon’s ear, keeping his head to the side of Jon’s so Jon won’t accidentally cause actual injury to either of them. He ignores Jon’s desperate pleading, waiting for him to tire himself out. Eventually, the sobs become fewer and further between, and Jon’s struggling grows weaker and weaker until finally he stops, crying steadily in Martin’s arms. 

Martin kisses the top of Jon’s head. “Color?”

Jon sniffles. “Green, sir.”

“Good, I'm glad. I’m going to untie your legs now.” He releases Jon, sliding off the mattress and walking to the foot of the bed. It only takes a moment to undo the knot, and immediately Jon is closing his legs, rubbing his thighs together in an attempt to get any stimulation on his cock. Martin’s hand shoots out and grabs his ankle, dragging it toward him to force Jon’s legs apart once again. “None of that.”

“But _Martin_ ,” Jon whines, bratty and insolent.

Martin leans over the foot of the bed to reach, and gives Jon a stinging slap across the face. He can hear the gasp following the sharp crack of his palm meeting Jon’s cheek. Before Jon can react, Martin has already grabbed his jaw to turn his face toward him, forcing him to make eye contact. “I’m getting tired of the attitude, slut. Would you like to try that last one again?” His tone is perfectly cordial, but they can both hear the threat running just under the surface. 

The look in Jon’s eyes could be arousal, or fear. Possibly both. “No sir, I’m sorry sir. I’m sorry, I’ll be good.”

Martin gives a neutral sort of hum, inspecting the faint red mark beginning to form on Jon’s face for a moment more before releasing him. “I’m going to do your other ankle now. You will not move unless I tell you otherwise.”

Jon stays perfectly still as Martin unties his other leg, breathing shallowly despite knowing Martin almost certainly wouldn’t count that as movement. He yelps when Martin, without a word, picks him up fully off the bed and flips him onto his front. The position Jon ends up in is humiliating, arse up and legs spread, cheek pressed into the mattress. Jon’s underwear is light grey, and it shows the wet spot where Jon has soaked through it clearly. If not for that, he’d probably be dripping onto the mattress - not that his current situation provides him with much more dignity. He doesn’t think he could get himself upright if he tried.

Martin hitches Jon’s hips up a bit more and nudges his knees further apart, putting his boyfriend’s arousal on full display. Apparently satisfied, he takes his place leaning back against the mountain of pillows near the headboard. He helps shift Jon so his face is in Martin’s lap, and tucks a piece of Jon’s hair behind his ear. 

“What’s your color, darling?”

“Green.”

“Good. If that changes, or if you need to stop for any reason, hum, and I’ll let you off.” Jon nods, so Martin keeps talking. “You’re going to suck me like a good little cockslut should, and if you do a very good job I might let you pick where I come. Understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Open up, then.” Jon does, and Martin takes his cock out of his pants, giving it a few strokes before guiding it into Jon’s waiting mouth. Martin groans as he’s touched for the first time in the scene. He takes a handful of Jon’s hair, establishing a solid grip. “No teeth,” he warns, before starting to give little thrusts upwards.

Jon can’t really move his head in the position he’s in, held in place, with his center of gravity being what it is. Tied up and ordered to stay still, he’s powerless to do anything but take what Martin gives him. He closes his lips around the cock in his mouth, carefully keeping his teeth away, and starts to suck. Martin sighs. “Slut,” he says affectionately. He’s not harsh as he finds his rhythm, instead fucking in slowly, leisurely, like he has all the time in the world to use Jon’s mouth. Maybe he does. Jon doesn’t know. He closes his eyes and lets Martin control him.

Jon gags when Martin’s cock starts pushing more insistently into his throat. “You can take it, can’t you, sweetheart? You can be a good little whore for me, I know you can,” Martin says. Jon grips his thumb, fighting the instinct to pull off, and forces himself down. The head of Martin’s cock slides into his throat as he takes Martin to the root, tears in his eyes. Martin’s hand gentles in his hair.

“Good boy. You’re being such a good toy for me, my sweet little slut. Fuck, you look pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

Jon loses track of time, sinking deeper into the praise and the humiliation of being used. He badly wants to come, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is the cock in his mouth, being a tight, wet hole to be fucked and filled at Martin’s leisure. He whimpers when Martin pulls out.

“Where do you want my load?” It takes a moment for Jon to process the question, only answering when Martin prompts him. “Jon?”

“My face,” he says hoarsely. “Wanna be marked up, wanna be yours.”

“Good boy.” Martin hauls him up by the hair with one hand, stroking himself faster with the other. Jon leaves his mouth open as Martin gets close.  
Martin groans as he orgasms, coming over Jon’s nose and cheeks, and into his mouth. Jon waits to swallow until he’s told to. 

“Go ahead. I know you want to.”

Jon swallows gratefully and collapses into Martin’s lap. Martin trails a thumb through the mess of come on Jon’s face and presses it to Jon’s lips until he understands the unspoken command, opening his mouth and licking the come off Martin's fingers. He repeats the action a few times more, cleaning Jon’s face as much as he can. Jon looks up at him with his big, trusting doe eyes and takes it without complaint, sucking lightly on the fingers in his mouth each time before they’re taken away. He stays there, catching his breath as Martin smooths a hand over his hair, showering him in praise.

When Martin decides they’re both ready, he helps Jon sit back on his heels, kneeling in front of Martin. Jon opens his eyes to see Martin beaming at him, face full of pride. Something goes warm and happy inside him at the sight. “You were so good, pet, I'm so proud of you.”

Jon ducks his face. “Thank you, sir,” he mumbles.

“Are you still turned on?”

“I am, yeah.”

Martin sighs, and tugs Jon closer to him until Jon is straddling his hips, leaning on his shoulder. “Here’s the thing,” he starts, running his hands up and down Jon's arms. “I was going to give you a reward at the end of the scene, if you were good for me. And you mostly were. But there was a part near the middle where you weren’t being very nice, were you?”

Jon shakes his head. “No sir,” he mumbles into Martin’s shirt.

“You called me a ‘fucking asshole,’ didn’t you?”

Jon’s voice is very small as he agrees, “Yes sir.”

“I think you forgot your place again, so I’ll remind you. I make decisions for you because I know what’s best for you, because I know my pretty slut needs his choices taken away. If I decide not to let you have an orgasm and you fight me on it, our little system doesn’t work, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Martin. I’m sorry I disobeyed you.”

“I know you are, pet, I forgive you. But I think you still deserve to be punished for that, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes sir.”

“I am going to give you two options, and you can pick the one you want. Number one,” he says, “The punishment and the reward cancel each other out. We’ll just say that your punishment is that you don’t get to come today, and we’ll end the scene here. I won’t allow you to have an orgasm until tomorrow evening, but I won’t make you take any pain. We can go straight to aftercare." He waits to see if Jon reacts, but he only shifts slightly in Martin’s lap. “Number two,” he begins again, “I let you have your reward, but first you'll have to take some discipline. Nothing too hard, just a spanking - you can even keep your boxers on. But I will hit you, and it will hurt, and I will make you thank me for each one. If you can do that and take your punishment like a good boy, you can come tonight. Those are your options. Which one do you want?”

Jon is squirming slightly. “The second one, please.”

“You want to be punished?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright.” He nudges Jon back, kissing his brow before taking one leg and moving it to the other side as he pulls Jon to lie over his lap.

Jon is startled by the first swat, light as it is. “Shit,” he hisses. When no more come, he looks back at Martin, who raises an eyebrow at him. 

“What did I tell you, pet?”

“Um,” Jon stutters, blanking. 

Martin takes pity on him. “I told you to thank me for every time I hit you.”

“Yes sir, thank you sir,” Jon rushes to say.

Martin continues, waiting for Jon to say thank you after each smack. “I’d like to add a rule,” he tells Jon after the first few. “When you thank me, you have to tell me what you’re thanking me for. It can be anything in the scene, but I want you to try to come up with something new each time. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes sir.” Jon makes an attempt to stifle his cry when Martin hits him again. “Thank you for punishing me, sir.” 

And again. “Thank you for taking my decisions away.” 

Again. “Thank you for tying me up.”

Again and again and again. Jon starts to cry again at some point, but gratitude continues to spill from his lips. “Thank you for humiliating me. Thank you for putting me in my place. Thank you for hurting me for your pleasure. Thank you for using me like the toy I am.” He thanks Martin for how it felt to be controlled, and praised, and embarrassed, and manhandled, and fucked. “Thank you for showing me who I belong to.”

Martin runs a gentle hand over Jon’s stinging ass. “You’re forgetting something. Thank me for it, properly, and we can be done.”

Jon wracks his brain, but it’s difficult. His head feels fuzzy, like he’s swimming through molasses to get to the thoughts he needs. “I, I don’t know,” he finally admits. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright, pet, I’ll remind you. I stopped you from coming.”

“Oh.” Jon pouts, resentful of the reminder. He’d nearly forgotten how badly he needed to come, but now it’s all rushing back.

Martin smiles indulgently down at him, knowing Jon can’t see his face right now. “I know you didn’t like it,” he says, “but good boys take what they’re given and are grateful for it, even if it’s not what they want. And you’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Jon nods, a little frantically. “Yes sir, wanna be good for you.”

“I know you do.” Martin decides to give these last few to him hard, now that he’s warmed up. He aims for the swell of Jon’s ass, where he’s least likely to do any real damage, and brings his hand down. Hard.

Jon is caught off guard. He tries to cry out, but what comes out is a strangled, pitiful thing. “Thank you for not letting me come,” he whispers, tears running down his face.

“I couldn’t hear that, pet. Could you repeat yourself?”

Jon groans. “Thank you for not letting me come,” he says louder, voice breaking a bit.

“Good boy.” The next blow isn’t any softer than the last, and Jon whimpers. “Why didn’t I let you come?”

“Thank you for,” Jon pauses, gathering his thoughts, “thank you for teaching me that my pleasure is secondary.” He gasps when Martin hits him again. “Thank you for making sure I stayed wet and desperate for you.” Again. Jon lets out a sob. “Thank you for helping me realize that serving you is better than coming,” he manages. 

Martin hits him one last time, but Jon is spent. He’s gone limp, draped over Martin’s lap, tears soaking into the sheets near his face. Martin's heart feels full just seeing him, so utterly relaxed under his hand. He takes pity on him. “Do you know why I really edged you?”

Jon shakes his head, exhausted.

“Because you told me you’d like it. Because you wanted me to deny you. Because I love you and I want to make you happy, and you deserve anything you could ever ask for.” Jon buries his face into the mattress. “What do you say, Jon?”

“Thank you.” It’s muffled, and Martin tugs gently on Jon’s hair, tilting his head so he can hear him better.

“For?”

Jon wants to hide his face in the bedding again, but he’s too tired to struggle against the hand in his hair. “Thank you for giving me what I wanted,” he says meekly. “Thank you for taking care of me, thank you for making me happy.”

Martin pulls him up off of his lap, handling him like he’s something fragile and precious. “You’re welcome,” he whispers in Jon’s ear as he undoes the knot keeping Jon’s wrists together, giving him freedom of movement once more. 

Jon shakes his arms out before rolling his shoulders. He sighs as a small cacophony of pops comes from his back. Martin looks on, slightly horrified at his boyfriend’s spine cracking like a glow stick, but Jon seems happy enough, so he lets it drop.

“How do you want to get off?”

Jon considers. “Hold me from behind?” he says after a moment of deliberation. Martin agrees, and waits for Jon to pull the sheet over himself. 

Jon shuffles back, settling in the space between Martin’s open legs and pulling his arms around him. “Like this,” he says, placing Martin’s hands where he wants them. One arm is wrapped around his stomach, the other around his chest. Martin can feel Jon’s heartbeat underneath his fingertips, tracing idle patterns on his chest.

Jon leans into Martin and lets his hand trail down his body and into his pants. It doesn’t take nearly as long for him to work himself up, this time. Martin murmurs a steady stream of praise, chin resting on Jon’s shoulder, telling him how good he is, how beautiful, how much Martin loves him, as Jon approaches the brink.

“Can I?” Jon asks, breathy.

“Yes, anything you want,” Martin tells him, and feels him shudder in his arms as he comes, hips jerking as he rides out the aftershocks. He doesn’t let go, clinging protectively to Jon until the latter gently moves Martin’s hands off of him. “Any aftercare requests? I'll get you a glass of water.”

Jon rubs his thighs together and grimaces. “I should shower,” he says. “You could do with a change of clothes.”

“Can I wash your hair?” Martin asks impulsively.

Jon considers. “Let me clean myself up first, and then you can do it in the sink.”

Martin nods, and heads to the dresser for some clean clothes. Jon watches him go, before turning on his heel and making a beeline for the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon's a brat and you cannot convince me otherwise
> 
> I haven't been replying to comments because just posting this is already kinda embarrassing even without acknowledging that other people are reading it, but I do really appreciate it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aftercare time! No onscreen sex, just irredeemably sappy fluff. They do talk a bit about potential future scenes.
> 
> I'm also realizing I never actually specified a setting for this fic, aside from one throw-away line in chapter 1. It's either in the safehouse, or a post-apocalypse happy ending, or a no powers AU. Your choice, but honestly, if you're looking for good worldbuilding, you are in the wrong place my man

Logically, Jon knows that there’s nothing inherently unclean about sex. It’s not that he doesn’t know that, he thinks to himself as he starts the shower. It’s just that bodies are sort of gross, and so are the various fluids they produce, and he'd rather not have them on his skin if he's not at least getting off on it. 

He showers quickly, only taking the time to really wash his face and inner thighs - the rest of him just gets a perfunctory scrub down. Stepping out, he towels his hair off first so it doesn't drip before glancing around for some clean clothes to change into. The realization that he forgot to bring any is a thoroughly unpleasant one. He lets his head tip back.

“Fuck.”

He wraps a towel around his waist, resigning himself to getting some clean clothes and then coming back to the bathroom to change, before opening the door and nearly tripping over a small stack of clothes as he steps out. 

He looks down at his feet. There’s a clean pair of boxers, a t-shirt, sweatpants, and one of Martin’s softest jumpers. Jon smiles, a bit giddy. He takes the clothes with him into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. 

When he goes to meet Martin, he finds the bedroom empty. He can hear music filtering in from somewhere downstairs, an old-sounding jazz standard.

“In the kitchen!” 

Jon grabs a pair of socks before he leaves, tugging them on one foot at a time as he hops down the hallway. Martin is waiting for him with a glass of water, and there’s something behind him that Jon can’t quite see. He tries to peer around him, but Martin steps closer to him and blocks his view.

“Drink your water first.”

Jon squints in his direction, trying to telepathically beam _don’t tell me what to do_ into his head through sheer force of will, but Martin just smiles blithely back at him. He drinks his water.

“Good,” Martin praises. “Here.” He brings the plate from behind his back and presents it to Jon. Chocolate. The nice kind that Jon likes. He takes one and plasters himself to Martin’s side, feeling him pull him closer on instinct. 

“I love you,” he says through a mouthful of chocolate.

“I love you too,” Martin says. “Do you want to have food now and I can wash your hair afterwards, or do you want to save some for later and I can do it now?

“Hm,” Jon says. He snags two more squares off of the plate. “Let’s do it now.”

The bathroom is far too cramped for this, so Martin sets a chair in front of the kitchen sink before running upstairs for Jon’s shampoo. Jon eats his chocolate as he waits, listening to Martin putter around above him. 

Martin brings two towels back down with him, along with a brush and Jon’s shampoo and conditioner. The first he sets aside. The other he folds into a makeshift pillow, covering the edge of the counter. “Lean back for me?” Jon starts to do so when Martin puts a hand under his head, stopping him there. “Sorry, just one thing.” Jon feels his hair being lifted away from the back of his neck, so it doesn’t get caught under his head.

“Oh, I didn’t even think of that.”

Martin gives him a half-smile. “Well, lucky for you, you have me.” He says lightly.

Jon doesn’t have it in him to tease Martin for that, so instead he just hums in agreement. “Lucky me.”

They’re quiet for a while. The music fills the peaceful silence - the lyrics are sappy, but nice, and the crackle on the recording has the kind of ‘lo-fi charm’ that Martin likes.

_“Say, if you were mine_  
_I would live for your love alone,”_

Martin waits for the water to warm up before wetting Jon’s hair. When he starts with the shampoo, Jon sighs blissfully.

Martin smiles. “You really like it when I touch your hair, don’t you?”

“You’re just now realizing this?” Jon says.

“I mean, I knew you liked it. I just didn’t realize how much.”

“Well, it’s a lot.”

“Duly noted.” Martin has the sappiest look on his face, but Jon knows he’s probably got one to match.

_“To kneel at your shrine,_  
_I would give up all that I own,”_

“I love you,” he says, impulsively. Sometimes he still forgets that he’s allowed to tell Martin things like that now, that he doesn’t have to keep those little affections to himself. He says them a lot when he remembers to make up for it.

“I love you too,” Martin says. It’s a reflex by now, though they both know he fully means it. He brings a hand to Jon’s forehead, stopping the soapy water from getting in his eyes as Martin rinses his hair. In the background, the music keeps playing.

_“Yes, even my heart_  
_Even my life_  
_I'd trade it all for you_  
_And I’d think I was lucky too_  
_If you were mine.”_

Jon’s conditioner is meant to be left in, so Martin shuts off the tap and hands Jon a towel. He accepts it, squeezing what excess water he can out of his hair before drying it properly. 

“Cuddles on the couch?” Martin offers. “I’d go with the bed, but the sheets are in the washer right now.”

Jon nods, finger-combing the conditioner down through his hair. “That sounds good. I want more chocolate, though.”

“Naturally.”

They end up stacked on the couch, a tangle of limbs with Jon laying mostly on top of Martin. There’s a documentary playing, with the volume down and subtitles on, but neither of them are paying enough attention to read them. 

“How are you feeling?” Martin asks softly.

Jon glances up from where his head is pillowed on Martin’s chest. “I’m pretty good,” he says. “A bit sore, but it’s not too bad.”

“I can go get you some Tylenol if you like?”

“No,” Jon whines quietly, drawing out the O. “I’m comfy, don’t leave.”

“You’re leaving a damp spot on my shirt is what you are.”

“Tough.”

Martin grins at him. “Do you want to talk about the scene? Likes, dislikes…?”

Jon considers. “The restraints were good. It was nice to have physical reminders that I wasn’t in charge.” He shifts. “It was a bit awkward getting my hands in and out of my pants, though - if I was certain I’d stay under the blanket for the whole scene, I probably wouldn’t have worn them.”

“Well, make a note for next time. Were you okay with me denying you for the whole scene?” he asks, suddenly concerned that he went too far. “You got really upset with me when I wouldn't let you come before me.”

To his relief, Jon nods. “I... I loved it _because_ I hated it so much. You're controlling me, obviously, and there's also the power imbalance of your desires overriding any of mine." He stops to think for a second. "I liked how it made the scene feel less like a transaction. It wasn't a matter of me edging for you, so you would let me come, so I would give you a blowjob. I did all of that just because you wanted me to. By the end, I was in a headspace where the only thing that mattered to me was pleasing you, regardless of whether I would get a reward for it when you were finished with me."

"So, it was good?"

"I would have safeworded if it wasn't.” He glares at Martin, but it’s not nearly as effective when he’s like this, tired and sated. “You really are a fucking asshole, though. Misleading me like that was mean.”

“Yeah, that was a dirty trick to play, wasn’t it.” Martin clearly already knows the answer.

“Yes, it was," Jon says anyway. "Astonishing, this level of cruelty from the man who claims to love me. Terrible, Martin, absolutely terrible.” He burrows deeper into Martin’s arms, as if they’ll be able to get any closer together. “You’d better do it again.”

Martin huffs a laugh. “What about the punishment?”

“Yes, you’re a fucking asshole for that too.”

“You had it coming.”

“Yeah, I did. It’s no fun, behaving _all_ the time. I didn’t expect you to make me thank you for it, though. That was new.”

“It was nice on my end, to have confirmation that you liked what I did. Even the edging.”

Jon grumbles into Martin’s shirt. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

Martin sits up a bit to kiss the top of his head. “I wonder if I could make you beg for it.”

“The spanking, or the edging?”

“Either. It’d be satisfying to get you to beg me for pain, since I know it’s not as much of a thing for you, but denial seems like more of a challenge.”

“Well, if you put your mind to it,” Jon says drowsily. His eyes are shut, and Martin lets him rest for a while, idly playing with his hair as he watches the TV.

His attention is drawn back to Jon when he shifts, slightly repositioning them both. “You know, I wouldn’t be opposed to doing the fantasy things,” Jon says.

Martin stops, not sure how to respond. He said a lot of things that Jon wouldn’t be okay with in real life. If Jon is offering to break his own boundaries just because he thinks that’s what Martin wants-

His spiral is cut off by Jon’s next sentence. “Not the sex stuff. Or, not most of it, I guess. I mean the parts about having to kneel, and service submission, and things like that. I like subbing for you, and if you’re okay with it, I’d like to do that sometimes without sex necessarily being a part of things.”

Martin breathes a small sigh of relief. “Of course I’m okay with it,” he murmurs. “I want to make you feel good, and if me taking the reins sometimes helps you relax, I’m happy to do it.” He lowers his voice, making a bit more sultry. “Not to mention how much I’d like it. The tea scene you mentioned was very appealing.”

"Is this a fetish of yours? Is that what all the tea you make is about?" Jon teases.

"Oh, shut up. You know what I like about that scene. And it's _not_ the tea," Martin says, sensing Jon about to needle him further.

“Is it the kneeling? Do I need to 'be reminded that I belong either on your cock or at your feet?'”

Martin groans. “Don't use my dirty talk against me, it's unkind. And you’re gonna get me hard again.” He can feel Jon smirk against him. “You’re a little tease, you know that?”

“What are you gonna do about it, spank me?”

“Christ.” His hand trails down Jon’s back to give his still-sore arse a quick squeeze, making him gasp. “Better watch your mouth, or I might.” He glances at the clock. “Another day, though. It’s a bit late to start another scene now.”

Jon nods. “Okay, another day.” They lapse into a comfortable quiet. “You know, we could adapt the sex stuff, anyway. You could always bend me over and fuck my thighs, or have me suck you off-”

“Alright.” He sits up, taking Jon with him, and switches their places before Jon can protest. Jon squeaks as he's flipped, and Martin uses his momentary shock to cage him in, his arms braced on either side of Jon's shoulders. “Behave.”

Jon is grinning, eyes bright. “I'm just saying! Oh, what if you used a remote-controlled vibrator on me? You could make me go all desperate without even having to touch me.”

Martin bends down and kisses him to shut him up. It’s deep, and filthy, and likely exacerbating the issue at hand, but at least Jon is too breathless to talk when they break apart. “I mean it, Jon. I won’t do another scene with you today.”

Jon gives him an exasperated kind of look. “I’m not suggesting a scene for right now.” he says. He brings his hands up. “Scene with no sex,” he says, gesturing with one, “Sex with no scene,” he says with the other. He mimes weighing the two options against each other. “Yes?”

Martin gazes down at him, eyes hungry. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I forgot to tell you, I usually go for multiple orgasms, and I only came once tonight.”

The dryer timer goes off, the loud buzz startling them both.

Martin evidently makes his choice. “I’ll do the sheets if you bring them to our room?”

“Deal.”

“Then yes.” He bends down for one more kiss before standing up, letting Jon off the couch. “I love you.” Jon glances back from the doorway, already on his way to get the laundry, and smiles.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I had to make the title relevant somehow.
> 
> This might become a series, possibly? I had ideas while I was writing that wouldn't all fit here, and I want to go into more detail on some of them. Like, maybe some of the scenes that Jon said he would want to try. Or the moment these two realize that they're going to have to wash those sheets again.

**Author's Note:**

> not gonna lie this is the first time I've posted anything with sex in it because it's confusing and I don't understand it lmao


End file.
